The Wandering Jew — Volume 04 eBook

At rare intervals, they heard, at a very great distance,
the rattle and rumble of a coach, returning home late;
then all was again silent.

Since their departure from the Rue Brise-Miche, Dagobert
and his son had hardly exchanged a word. The
design of these two brave men was noble and generous,
and yet, resolute but pensive, they glided through
the darkness like bandits, at the hour of nocturnal
crimes.

Agricola carried on his shoulders the sack containing
the cord, the hook, and the iron bar; Dagobert leaned
upon the arm of his son, and Spoil sport followed
his master.

“The bench, where we sat down, must be close
by,” said Dagobert, stopping.

“Yes,” said Agricola, looking around;
“here it is, father.” “It is
oily half-past eleven—­we must wait for
midnight,” resumed Dagobert. “Let
us be seated for an instant, to rest ourselves, and
decide upon our plan.”

After a moment’s silence, the soldier took his
son’s hands between his own, and thus continued:
“Agricola, my child—­it is yet time.
Let me go alone, I entreat you. I shall know
very well how to get through the business; but the
nearer the moment comes, the more I fear to drag you
into this dangerous enterprise.”

“And the nearer the moment comes, father, the
more I feel I may be of some use; but, be it good
or bad, I will share the fortune of your adventure.
Our object is praiseworthy; it is a debt of honor that
you have to pay, and I will take one half of it.
Do not fancy that I will now draw back. And so,
dear father, let us think of our plan of action.”

“Then you will come?” said Dagobert, stifling
a sigh.

“We must do everything,” proceeded Agricola,
“to secure success. You have already noticed
the little garden-door, near the angle of the wall—­that
is excellent.”

“We shall get by that way into the garden, and
look immediately for the open paling.”

“Yes; for on one side of this paling is the
wing inhabited by Mdlle. de Cardoville, and on the
other that part of the convent in which the general’s
daughters are confined.”

At this moment, Spoil-sport, who was crouching at
Dagobert’s feet, rose suddenly, and pricked
up his ears, as if to listen.

“One would think that Spoil-sport heard something,”
said Agricola. They listened—­but heard
only the wind, sounding through the tall trees of the
boulevard.

“Now I think of it, father—­when the
garden-door is once open, shall we take Spoil-sport
with us?”

“Yes; for if there is a watch-dog, he will settle
him. And then he will give us notice of the approach
of those who go the rounds. Besides, he is so
intelligent, so attached to Rose and Blanche, that
(who knows?) he may help to discover the place where
they are. Twenty times I have seen him find them
in the woods, by the most extraordinary instinct.”

A slow and solemn knell here rose above the noise
of the wind: it was the first stroke of twelve.